Survival of the Fittest - v4 by Jonathan Kellerman

Author:Jonathan Kellerman [Kellerman, Jonathan]
Format: epub
Publisher: Alex Delaware
Published: 2010-07-23T14:40:39.812000+00:00

It took forty-five minutes to reach the west end of the Valley and another ten to find her address in Woodland Hills.

The house was a small yellow structure of no particular style on a hot, wide side street lined with mature bottlebrush trees in full bloom. Red flowers and sticky patches from the trees littered the sidewalks and California jays dove among the branches. The sun bore down through the haze and even though I couldn’t hear the freeway, I could smell it.

The front lawn was dry and needed mowing. Big, shapeless margarita daisy bushes pushed up against the front porch. No sign of her Mustang in the driveway and the garage door was shut. The mailbox was empty and my ring and knock went unanswered.

Two cars in the driveway next door, a white minivan and a white Acura.

I went over there. The ceramic plaque beneath the bell said THE MILLERS under a crucifix, and looked homemade. A window air conditioner played a waltz.

I rang and the brass cover on the peephole snicked back.

“Yes?” Male voice.

“My name is Dr. Alex Delaware. I’m a friend of your neighbor, Helena Dahl. She hasn’t been around for a while and some of us have been getting a little concerned.”

“Um . . . one second.”

The door opened and cold air hit my face. A couple in their late twenties looked me over. He was tall, dark, bearded, with a sunburned nose, and wore a pink Hawaiian shirt, denim shorts, no shoes. The can of Sprite in his hand was sweating but he wasn’t.

The woman next to him was slim, broad-shouldered, nice-looking, with butter-colored multiflipped hair sporting two curlers on top. An electric blue T-shirt was tucked into black shorts and her nails were long and pearly white.

“Who’s concerned about Helena?” he said.

“Her friends, people she works with at Cedars.”

No answer.

I said, “She quit her job without explaining why. Has she left town?”

He gave a reluctant nod, but didn’t say more. Behind him was a neatly appointed living room, home-shopping show on a big screen hawking a pearl necklace with matching earrings, only 234 left.

“We just wanted to know how she’s doing,” I said. “Do you know about her brother?”

He nodded. “He never came around. At least not since we’ve lived here, which is two years.”

The woman said, “But they both grew up here. It was their parents’ house.” Southern accent. “Helena said he was a police officer. How strange, what he did.”

“Any idea where she is?” I said.

“She said she was going on vacation,” said the man. He took a drink from the can and offered it to his wife but she shook her head.

“Did she mention where?”

“No,” he said.

“When did she leave?”

“What’d you say your name was?”

I repeated it and held out my business card and my police-consultant badge.

“You’re police, too?”

“I work with them sometimes but that has nothing to do with Officer Dahl.”

His posture loosened. “My work’s kind of related to police work. I teach traffic school, just opened my own business

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